Me: (turning around) Okay, Claire Bear, let's get you ouAAAAAAH! No, no, put that down, that's owie, oh no! Give it to mommy, Claire, give it to mommy.
Claire: Care brush teef! Mommy's teefbrush for Care!
Now what was it Claire had in her mouth that would have me freaking out? On kid number four, moms just don't have the need to freak out so much. No simple dirty washcloth or toothbrush here; Claire was chewing on my razor. Yes, that's right, my freakin' razor!
So I quickly and carefully take it away, check her over, to find there is no blood anywhere on her face and her pretty little lips are still perfect. Parenting fail, yes, but all is okay.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Me: (turning around) Okay, Claire, let's put on your....oh, Claire, where is that blood coming from?!
She had blood on her face, stomach, arms, hands, and one leg. I'm searching for a cut and not finding one, but new blood drops keep appearing on the towel and bed. Finally, I figured out it was her thumb. She had one little slice across it, but it wouldn't stop bleeding. And there are no band aids on that floor, so I had to football hold her and make it up a flight of stairs, while hoping she doesn't pee on me, to get one.
One Batman band aid later, Claire is diapered and clothed and happy. Until naptime, when I figure out we've bandaged up the thumb she sucks. Now it's a parenting superfail.
Yup, that's blood on her hand. Aren't you glad it's not in focus?
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